Victory In Defeat

[Dominik Santiago]

Continued from Dominik Santiago vs The Purest

OOC: Was supposed to get this up last week, but I procrastinate. School and shit, college is a fucking hassle. This is just to tie up some loose ends, and a working storyline. Enjoy!

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The crowd was roaring with anticipation, as Santiago leaned his head up off the canvas. The Assassin's face was buried beneath sweat and agony, but you could never tell by the confident smirk etched on his California mug as he was fresh off of delivering his patent finishing maneuver. The recipient of the aforementioned cutter, The Purest, with his face plastered into the canvas, and the rest of his body completely motionless as he lay inert. With every fiber in his being, the Lord of the Flies turns over, proceeding to transition Glover's body to a supine position before collapsing across his carcass and hooking his nearest leg for the cover. The official acknowledges the pinfall attempt by dropping to the mat, in his usual theatrical fashion, arm raised into the electric ambiance to intimate the start of his count. The Californian nods his head in synchronization with the cadence of the official's count; deep in Dom's head lies a realization that he was a mere six seconds away from successfully unloading his frustrations, and squashing a thorn in his side in the form of one of Ryan Hughes' associates.

"1!"

"2!"

Showing his resiliency, Steven contorts his body, managing to roll his shoulder over to break up the count, leaving Dominik perturbed and ultimately preventing any celebratory like satisfaction.

Big Al: "He's still alive. Not many men eat an SKO and live to wrestle in the same match, but the Purest is proving the Scots have some fight in em!"
Colin Jennings: "I thought for sure it was over after that Al. He got everything, I mean the connection was flawless. This is just a testament to Glover's tenacity. Nothing more, and nothing less!"
"And you've got to wonder what's going on in Santiago's mind. He's lost Shawn Dreamer to FBI, and now he himself is finding it difficult to vanquish these Brits!"

Santiago leans up to his knees, his eyes widening in disbelief as his miracle working fingertips pass through his blond hair follicles. Standing over top of him is the referee, with two fingers protruding before the appalled Assassin as a means to state his case, his mouth moving, words suddenly sputtering out of the gaping hole in his to ensure Dominik that it was in fact a two count. The words reach deaf ears, as the King of Deathmatches is too lost in the moment, his most recent failure, his inability to silence on of his many foes. The consternation and dismay would soon vanish, allowing the manifestation of the former New Age Champion's anger and rage. His lips curled in a scowl, his eyes narrowing with hatred as his lower body descended to the mat. His fists clenched, being planted into the canvas as his cold blooded, blue eyes locked on the Purest who slowly began to stir. The Assassin had lost touch with reality, he had ventured into his happy place, where he found jubilation through administering harm and misfortune upon those unlucky to be in his path of destruction. His newest victim was Steven Glover, who slowly and lethargically began to climb to his feet. Like a viper coiled to strike, Dom waits for an opportune moment to strike. The window of opportunity would be created as grizzled veteran turned blindly. Obliged to attack, Santiago springs into action, lunging at his adversary, simultaneously turning his back, whilst reaching behind himself to grasp at his antagonist's head. The second attempt to write Glover's future with an SKO is thwarted however, as Steven shrewdly ducks his head, causing the Californian to grab at the wind. The Purest immediately drops to one knee, encircling his foe's waist with one arm, and reaching in between his legs with the other. Upon sending his momentum in reverse, The Purest drags from a state of full verticality, and coerces him onto the mat, with his shoulders and back pinned down onto the canvas. Afterward, Glover climbs to his feet, hunkering over and stacked on top of the tag team champion. The winds of change had blown through the arena, changing the fortunes of the two competitors, taking Glover from a perilous predicament, and putting him in a pinning situation. With the School Boy Roll up expertly executed, the referee slides into position to make the count.

"1!"

"2!"

"3!"

Charlie Coors: "The winner of this match, via pinfall, STEVEN GLOVER!"

Glover's name echoes throughout the arena to a chorus of boos, which brings a gratifying smile to his face as he rises back to his feet. He takes a deep breath, burying the air deep into his lungs following the grueling contest, and the overall hard fought win. He grabs a hold of the ring cables, resting on the ropes as the sweat cascades down from his forehead; his mannerisms, and breathing demonstrate the fatigue and pain having set in as a result of what could be considering an instant classic. Further widening his grin is the sound of Chesney Hawkes, "The One and Only" as his victory slowly begins to set in.

"I'll tip my hat off to Glover. He runs with a band of misfits, but he showed true class tonight. Defeating Santiago is no easy task, and just barely got the win today. It was a hard fought contest-"
"It was a hell of a contest. He escaped a second SKO, to roll up the King of Deathmatches. Dominik hadn't been pinned since NeXus. That means Glover will be vying for that KOTDM title. That's how big a win this was Colin!"
"I know there's no moral victories, but even in defeat, Santiago can keep his head held high, knowing he took a capable opponent to hell and back. The next time these two meet, he'll know what not to do in order to be on the other side of the decision!"
"I don't think that's gonna sit well with him... look out!"

Al attention was diverted by the unsportsmanlike behavior of one Dominik Santiago, who climbs to his feet with a fiery vengeance aimed at his nemesis. The incognizant Purest is immediately clubbed over the head, and rendered to one knee as a barrage of fists rain down upon his cranium. The vindictive assault intensifies as Glover is sent to his side, giving Dominik grounds to stomp a mudhole in him. The boots relentlessly clash into Steven's body, each stamp fueled with more malevolence then its predecessor. The theme music is abruptly cut off as the Boston crowd watches on as the Lord of the Flies unloads his pent up rage on the helpless Purest. Appearing unsatisfied by imprinting the soles of his boots into Glover's body, Dominik drops to his knees, quickly seizing Steven's head and placing his throat across the bottom ring rope. The air is soon restricted to Glover's brain, as the Scott finds his windpipe careening the bottom rope. The Assassin sneers down at his victim with a maniacal gaze, as he continues the blatant choke, ignoring the demands from the referee rebuking and pleading in the background.

"Dominik has lost it!"
"He's hidden behind Kahlan and Shawn Dreamer for too long. This is the Dominik we all know and love. The man who lives to hurt people, who gets a kick out of ending careers. He's trying to permanently take one of his enemies out of commission."
"There's just no place for such a display Al. You sound like you enjoying this. This is low. This is sick. This is disturbing!"
"All qualities that got Santiago the moniker 'The Assassin.' "

The Assassin shows no signs of relinquishing his stranglehold, despite Glover's face slowly turning purple, and his hands frantically clawing into the canvas due to the air deprivation to his brain- that is until Dominik's attention is diverted by the swaying of curtains and the blaring of a tune not heard by the Triumph crowd in quite some time.

TBCB He Knows Who

[Sam Keane]

The velvet curtains parted way as the familiar music blasted throughout the arena; it was the theme of the new TV champion Sam Keane. Most audience members were left scratching their heads wondering exactly what it was that brought the New Yorker out onto centre stage. A few audience members recall that Sam and Dom weren’t on the best of terms during the perennial underdog’s last stint on GHW television. They had exchanged harsh words in the past and this time seemed to be no different as the cruiserweight came out snarling, his fiery gaze meeting Santiago’s all the way from the curtain. There was none of his usual charm or attempt to play up to the crowd; instead he was wielding a steel chair in one hand and a microphone in the other. The spotlights glistened off his newly won championship that adorned his waist as he slowly stalked down the ramp, his eyes never once deviating from Santiago’s. The purest’s head still straddles the ring rope as the hardcore assassin continues to apply pressure, his face conveys a combination of surprise and malice towards the young pretender as he makes his way to the ring.

“Still up to the same old tricks Dom? This guy beats you outright and how do you react? A sneak attack from behind, I have to say that’s impressive even for you. But then again, you never could take a defeat very well, hell I beat you twice in two weeks and you came out and ranted to the crowd about how I was a nobody, and that the victory was a fluke. Let’s face it Dominik tonight and on those other nights, the better man left the arena victorious and there’s nothing you can do about it. I bet that makes your blood boil right? The fact that nothing you do from here on out, will expunge that loss from your record. Sure he might leave the arena tonight a little worse for wear but in a few weeks time, the history books will show that he was victorious and you, well you’ll still be the sore loser that stands in front of me. Your pathetic, nothing more than a glorified bully and if none of the rest of the roster is going to step in, I guess I’ll have to.”

His words fill the audience with hope, seeing somebody willing to stand up to the lord of the flies sends them into rapturous applauses. The thunderous clapping reverberates throughout the arena building to a deafening crescendo as he drops the microphone and closes the gap between the two of them. Sam stops short of sliding into the ring directly at his ferocious adversary; Purest’s eyes betray him and call out for help, doing the thing the brave man would never allow himself to do. Sam nod’s at the look and goes to slide into the ring; his head is under the bottom rope when Dom lashes his boot towards it cutting off his entrance. The speed of Keane allows him to dodge the assault and regroup on the outside. The audience find themselves on the edge of their collective seats, choking on the anticipation of the two forces colliding in the ring once more. Suddenly without any sort of notice a sickening thud rings out across the arena reaching every single eardrum, almost churning each stomach. The camera cuts to the bloodied forehead of the Purest, as his frame now lies inside the ring, the chair in Keane’s hands now thoroughly indented from the vicious chair shot.

Sam and Dom share a sadistic smile as the fans display their disapproval of the current developments, Keane slides under the bottom rope, this time without any objections from the lord of the flies. The two men look at each other clearly impressed at how well their deceitful plan played out. Before they even spoke a word to each other the New Yorker turns his attention to the already bloodied Scotsman dragging him to his knees, his target is clearly in no position to fight back, clearly still reeling from the chair shot. His eyes screamed of the disorientation he was currently enduring and he could do nothing about what was about to happen. Keane unhooked his belt and layed it open across the canvas before wrapping his arms around the Purest’s neck. He toyed with the fans for a moment watching their various reactions ranging from anger to full on disgust. None of that mattered to Keane now, he had made his choice and was fully willing to accept the consequences. If he had to shun the fans to make a statement, he was more than willing to do so. In his eyes, they had turned their backs on him a long time ago, when they forgot who he was and allowed him to slip back into the unknown.

Without any further hesitation, he threw his frame backwards towards the canvas, taking his victims skull with him. His forehead splattered off the gold plate of the title, the impact further ripping the fresh wound he sported on his forehead. Keane hopped up immediately after delivering the devastating DDT, however the Scotsman would not be so lucky, his bloodied frame was left discarded on the canvas. Keane walks over and shakes Dom’s hand as the two stand side by side, victorious in the middle of the ring. The fans made sure their voices were heard as they rain down jeers and swear words upon the squared circle.

[Ryan Hughes]

Aw hell no.